First Year
by Catherine Antrim
Summary: Harry and Ginny's children, Maggie and James, have lead a fairly sheltered life in the country, away from the wizard press. When the two start school, they have to deal with being the children of The Boy Who Lived as well as the remaining death eaters


Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling and Warner Brothers do. The end. And what's up with this new system? Anyone else confused out of their brains?

1 The hot summer air was alive with strange vibrations and every hair on the back of Maggie's neck was standing straight up.

There was a flash of lightning and shortly after a roll of thunder so intense it shook the rafters of the house. Unable to stay in bed any longer, Maggie crawled to her window and starred out at the wet, dark world.

Another streak of lightning illuminated the flooded yard. For a second she could see the silhouette of the barn against the pale sky.

Maggie shivered and rapped her arms around her knees, breathing in the pleasant scent that the rain brought. She jumped at the sound of a knock on her door. Quickly she dove into her bed and pulled the quilts over her.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, creating a sliver of light against the opposite wall but for a moment Maggie saw no one. Then, looking down, she saw Anne, in her pink dressing gown and fuzzy slippers. She was clutching a flashlight with pale knuckles, her brown eyes wide as saucers.

"The lights keep going on and off," she said softly. "I can't sleep; I'm 'fraid."

Maggie patted the spot next to her in the bed. Anne climbed in beside her.

"What makes the thunder Maggie?" Anne asked. Maggie shrugged. "Is it magic?"

"It's better than magic," responded Maggie. "But I don't know what it is exactly. Ask James. I know it can't hurt you though, so go to sleep."

Anne's little face relaxed slightly and she lay her head on the pillow. Within seconds she was deep in sleep, her breathing soft. Maggie lay beside her, but found so such peace. Downstairs someone was moving.

On tiptoe, Maggie put on her robe and crept barefoot through the house. Looking out the window on the stair landing, Maggie watched a jagged bolt of lightning cut across the sky and hit one of the trees with a crack. The tree burst into flame on the spot. Maggie stood still, watching the fire devour the branches, until it was put out by the falling rain.

The living room was dark save the embers in the dying fire and smelt of smoke. There was a glowing orange light coming from the kitchen. She headed toward it.

There, her father was leaning against the sink, his unfocused eyes looking at something far away that she couldn't see; beside him was a forgotten cup of tea. She knew that look well.

He heard her enter the room and jumped up, looking startled. When he saw her, he quickly regained himself.

"Can't sleep," she explained.

"Me neither."

They regarded each other without speaking for a moment. "Want some tea?" he said finally. Maggie nodded and perched herself on the sink beside him, watching him prepare the tea.

"Honey?" he asked.

"Of course."

Maggie sipped her tea in silence and the two of them watched the flickering lights as the storm shook the power lines. Occasionally, he would wince and reach for his calf. His hands would hit air and he'd straighten up.

"Does it hurt?" she said softly. He shook his head no.

"This always happens when it rains," he explained. Maggie looked down at him stumpy leg and was suddenly very thankful to have both of her own still intact.

"I wonder what school will be like," she said after a while. Her father looked at her and saw her face was stiff and her eyes bright and fearful, though she'd never admit to it, just like he'd never admit to the sharp, electric streaks running up the remains of his leg. He took her little hand in his battered one and held it tightly.

"You're going to love it, Greta-Lily. I promise."

Touched by her father's use of her old nickname, Maggie finally relaxed. By morning, she had fallen asleep on the counter and been moved to the couch. The river had flooded its banks and several trees had fallen. Before she had gains consciousness, she heard the incoherent yells of her mother and brother in the yard.

Still blinking sleep out of her eyes, Maggie pulled on her raincoat and galoshes over her pajamas. The screens of the porch were laced with tiny silver rain drops and the rising sun was shining weakly through the wet air. Maggie's boots squished pleasantly on the mud with every step she took. Several of the horses had gotten loose and she could see her mother running after them, yelling and shooting spells at their backs. Maggie watched this with interest since neither of her parents used magic at home very often.

Walking along the swollen creek, Maggie saw a family of ducks swim by. The mother duck was frantically trying to find all her ducklings, many of which had been blown away during the night. A little ways up, James was perched among the reeds, fully dressed, observing a bullfrog.

"What makes the lightning James?" she asked slowly. He didn't look at her and at first she though he hadn't heard her but then he spoke.

"Heat I think," he said finally. "Something to do with clouds too." Maggie nodded and made a note to tell Anne before they left. James continued to study his frog and Maggie watched him.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"Of school?"

"Yes."

He thought about this for a while. "No not really. It should be safe there, with Dumbledore as head master. Why? Are you?"

"No," said Maggie quickly. Her eyes gave away her true feelings. "Not at all," she added stubbornly. James looked disinterestedly away and she continued across the yard. The barn alone was dry, it was built (and charmed she suspected) well by her parents. Maggie's nostrils filled with the familiar smell of hay and animal fur.

Her mother made her entrance known by the clopping of her heavy boots on the stone walk. She entered, leading a horse and looking windblown, her red hair sticking out at every angle, her wand outstretched.

"Margaret! What are you doing out here? Go get ready! You're not even dress!"

Sulkily, Maggie returned to the house, leaving muddy footprints on the stairs as she trekked up to her room. Anne was just waking from among her covers as Maggie found her clothes. The two sisters went down to breakfast together.

The kitchen was filled with the smells of foods and her mother had tied her hair back and was singing softly to herself. She seemed in much better spirits than before. Both Harry and James were sitting at the table reading books and Maggie noticed how much father and son resembled each other.

Maggie ate in unusual silence, aware that she didn't trust herself to speak. Anne babbled about how much she wished she was going too. Maggie found she was no longer hungry. Excusing herself, she headed back to her room where it still smelt like rain.

She looked at the painted walls to where her drawings of centaurs hung and then down the wooden lamp her father had carved her. Since Harry had stopped going to work, he had learned to make all sorts of wonderful things out of wood. One of these things, a wooden centaur, sat on her book shelf. With a sigh, she removed the statue from it's place and put it on top her robes in her truck. Downstairs, her mother was calling to her. With one last look at her room, Maggie gathered up her trunk and headed downstairs.

Outside, the family car was waiting. Maggie had barely ever been inside it, since she and her siblings rarely left home. Climbing in the back beside Anne, she tucked her feet under the seat and buckled her seat belt.

Her mother was driving and her father like her was staring out at the passing scenery. Maggie silently wished good bye to the passing telephone polls and grazing cows. She watched the white farm houses turn to suburban developments and finally to the grey streets of London. It was still early and the sun was just starting to grow hot.

The children followed their parents through the crowded station and Maggie held her brothers hand tightly as they passed through the magical boundary of platform 9 ¾. She did not release his hand as a they bid their parents and sister good bye, or as the boarded the train.

Ginny, Harry and Anne watched them go tearfully. Ginny looked at her husband nervously.

"Do you think they'll be alright Harry?"

"Of course they'll be alright, there's no better place."

"I know, it's just…" she searched for words. "You remember all the trouble we got in." Harry held her close, kissing the top of her head and ignoring the odd glances to his forehead he was getting from strangers in the crowd.

"We came out fine, what could possibly happen."

"You're right. Of course you're right." He kissed her at the corned her lips. Still entangled in her husband's arms, she took Anne's hand and the three of them walked back through the platform the streets of London, all imagining Maggie and James, somewhere far away, speeding through the English countryside.


End file.
